


Eulogy

by Denstort



Category: Muse
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2357429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denstort/pseuds/Denstort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom had to do something he thought he'd never have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eulogy

Matthew James Bellamy….he always was a contrary sod.

I’m sorry if you think I’m being insulting, but I think I have the right. Well your readers will know who I am, but for those who are going to be first time readers, my name is Dominic Howard, and I’m one third of a rock group called MUSE.

Yes, that band.

And Matt was my friend and fellow bandmate and last week I had to do something that almost broke my heart.

As I was saying, Matthew James Bellamy…he always was a contrary sod…..but he was also brilliant.

Oh, I know you think in terms of record sales, gigs and awards. But that’s just ephemera.

I’m talking about the man.

I remember the first time I met him, and I don’t mean bumping into him in the school corridor, or stopping to listen to him play. No. I mean that day on that patch of muddy grass.

We didn’t mix, you see. He was all flat top haircut and shell suits, and I was all long hair and grunge, and my mum told me he was trouble and to stay away from him.

But, like every other teenager, you tell them not to and we do the opposite….so for lack of a way to introduce myself, I asked if I could have a go on his computer game…and a friendship was born.

We skirted round each other music wise, until I asked him to join my band…well, we were a bit scary and Matt hated singing, and we scared all the decent players and singers away. Then we met Chris, and you know the rest……….the parties….the girls….the shrooms! All twenty five of our years as a band are documented to the last minute.

But I’m not going to talk about that and neither will Chris when you interview him. I want to talk about the man I knew.

The Matt that sat and cried with me when my dad died, and walked miles in the pouring rain to find me when it all became too much and I ran. But those are private things and for me to remember.

So, how about this; he had this habit of, usually after a big gig…let me explain.

I’d forgotten my phone and went back to the stage to get it, and there he was, lying on the stage, just staring at the sky.

He looked so peaceful and well….beautiful. Yes, beautiful, because he never thought he was.

Of course, clumsy me, walked straight into my drums and ruined it, breaking the moment. But for years after that I just stood and watched him…until that time.

“I know you’re there, Dom,” he said.

I walked over and lay down next to him.

“Sorry,” I said,

“S’alright,” he said. “Dom?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything mate.”

“When I die….”

“Don’t talk like that,” I interrupted.

“No Dom, everyone does. If I go before you, I want you to speak at my funeral.”

“Okay,” I stammered.

“Nothing sad, y’know. Can’t stand maudlin stuff.”

I thought nothing of it, thinking he was just in one of those moods. But I wish I had taken notice.

You see, me and Chris thought he would be the last to go; being the stubborn sod he could be. So we didn’t take much notice of it, his weight loss, after all he was a skinny git.

Then one morning, he didn’t show up at the studio; which wasn’t like him. Then we got that call, he’d collapsed in the street.

Then we were hit by a tsunami….the C word.

He fought it, like we knew he would, but it was horrible, the chemo, the radiotherapy, the tears and the anger.

But in the end it won, and I clearly remember that day. I saw it…we saw it, the fight die in his eyes, and that night he slipped away.

That’s nice, thank you, but I’m not going to get maudlin; he’d hate that.

I’ll leave you with this image…if there’s a heaven and a god, you can bet he’s up there, pestering God or Jesus, asking the same questions he’d asked while he was alive.

Like I said, he always was a contrary sod.

Oh, by the way…we and Matt’s family can’t thank the fans enough for paying to have a statue of the band put up on the Den in Teignmouth. He would have loved that idea, even if he thought the place was boring.

But like I said, Matthew James Bellamy, he always was a contrary sod. Put that as your headline…he’d like that.


End file.
